


Eager to Please

by SwishyJellyfishy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Don't read if that makes you uncomfortable, F/M, I'm still mad at Mummy Holmes after the Eurus thing, M/M, Mycroft Holmes-centric, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, She's not going to be great here, Teacher-Student Relationship, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-20 20:01:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30010194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwishyJellyfishy/pseuds/SwishyJellyfishy
Summary: And whenever she smiled at him for answering a question just right, it would elate his mood for the entire day.Despite having little experience in the concept, Mycroft was fairly certain he was in love.Title on my Google Docs: Should I really be starting another story? No
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Lady Smallwood
Kudos: 5





	Eager to Please

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looklooklooklooklook.  
> L o o k .  
> I should really be working on my Percy Jackson AU but when an idea hits, it sticks.  
> If you’re uncomfortable with teacher-student relationships, age difference stuff, all that jazz, click away now.  
> It will be questioned and morality does make a factor but I'm not going to scrutinize this too much.  
> So, if you’re getting grooming or advantage taking from this, it’s not intentional but I’m just letting you know now that that might be a thing.  
> To be honest, I was attempting to go for some PWP because I'm trying to get better at writing smut but my brain won’t let me do anything without plot.  
> (I might try to be adventurous when it comes to sex scenes. Practice, you know? But I am a baby writer when it comes to that so any tips are well appreciated).  
> Also, I don’t know how Oxford works so how do I know how their classes are run? Therefore, I am basing them off my Canadian experiences.  
> This also means I won't be having an upload schedule and will post as I get more into the story because I'm not done.  
> Greg will come in later on but it will begin with a focus on Mycroft and Elizabeth before getting into that.  
> You’ve been warned.
> 
> Thank you, lovelies, and I look forward to any feedback you might have.

Straightening his two pens and picking at his tie, Mycroft sat at the front row, waiting.

There was a general murmur in the room before class began and he was willfully attempting to tune it all out.

Everyone was far too distracting and none of them had anything interesting to say in the first place.

To prevent himself from acknowledging the useless chatter, he thought about the upcoming lesson for today, the essay that was already finished on his table, and the dreaded call home that he knew he had to make. 

Scowling, not particularly in the mood to hear how amazingly intelligent his younger brother was for the umpteenth time and not a single question referring to how he was faring, he thought of the multiple strategies that would minimize the frivolities his mother loved to emulate. 

Perhaps if he called a few minutes before his next class or feigned missing lunch. The latter would certainly annoy her but she wouldn’t press the issue to continue staying on the line. 

She hated hearing the sound of chewing over the phone and that was a trick he used fairly often. 

Whether or not she had begun suspecting the pattern was up to speculation. But given how much time she spent on the phone, she probably forgot which individual she was speaking to, anyway.

Even her own son, at times. 

Regardless, it was doubly troublesome to blatantly avoid calling, so small sacrifices had to be made to placate her. 

The sound of the door opening behind him pulled Mycroft from his less than pleasant thoughts. Fixing his posture, the whole classroom was slowly quieting down due to who had just walked in. 

Hearing the familiar tap of assuredly black heels, he picked up his pen, opened his notebook, and looked forward as she came into his peripheral view. 

Watching her settle her papers down, her laptop in her other hand, Mycroft smiled slightly as he took note of her choice of attire today.

Blonde hair wrapped into a tight bun atop her head, her black pencil skirt hugging snugly against her thin hips and legs, and her navy long-sleeved turtleneck.

Excellent but, then again, she never looked less than stellar. 

Professor Smallwood regarded the class as she finished organizing her things. There were a few minutes left until they had to officially begin.

Her blue eyes scanned the multiple youthful faces in the room before settling for the briefest moments on him.

Mycroft felt his cheeks burn at the smallest indication that he stood out in particular to her and he tried to forcibly will away the obvious signs of attraction in case she noticed. 

It wouldn't have done him any good to seem like such a flustering child in the face of a woman like her. 

And he was mature beyond his years, that was for certain.

Class commenced and he hung on her every word, taking notes despite being able to recall everything she said. He wanted to seem like a hard worker, a proper student. In his other classes, he couldn’t care less about his professors’ perceptions. They threw his grades back at him, mumbling something or other about being a ‘show off’ or an ‘upstart’. But she never did. Never Professor Smallwood.

She would return his work, his essays, his assignments, with a genuine smile and pride in her eyes. 

“Fantastic work, Mr. Holmes,” she said at one instance and he preened at the acknowledgment. 

He continued to listen and write, watching the way her face lit up as she discussed the Warka Vase and its representation of life in Uruk. He appreciated how lovely her handwriting was, flowy, elegant, and neat.

The fact that she religiously enjoyed mint tea was extremely endearing to him and he adored how she always smelt like a subtle garden of the freshest roses. 

Professor Smallwood was neither arrogant or stuffy. She was confident in her intelligence, composed, and did not hesitate to reprimand or to compliment, when such was due. 

Not only did Mycroft greatly enjoy the content (the Ancient Mediterranean was fascinating), it was heightened through her eloquent and thoroughly knowledgeable teaching. 

And whenever she smiled at him for answering a question just right, it would elate his mood for the entire day.

Despite having little experience in the concept, Mycroft was fairly certain he was in love. 

  
\--------  
  


Elizabeth sipped a glass of wine as she read over her students’ work, humming along to Bach emitting from her record player.

It was displayed proudly on the small table near her settee, easily accessible for the changing of tracks. 

With her black pen in her other hand, the papers sprawled across her lap, she was eyeing the grade distribution of her class.

Most of them did decently, a handful were atrocious, but only a few she would consider done well.

A name always appeared in that list in particular.

Mycroft Holmes.

Such a bright young man. Confident and sure of himself on paper, but always seemed out of sorts in person. Perhaps it was his stature. Tall but on the lankier side, he did not look athletic or prone to any sport at all. 

His dress implied an adult (always donning something sharp) but his face still retained a boyish look. Marred by the fact that he had recently taken to smoothing his hair back. She much preferred the tousled fringe he had during the beginning of the term.

Perhaps he was overcompensating. For what? She was unsure of. There was no harm in looking young. 

Whatever product he opted for also made his hair more auburn than on the red end of the spectrum.

A shame, that was.

As she continued to read his essay, she smiled. That child was going somewhere grand once he left these halls. Inquisitive and analytical, his ideas were far from reiterations she had seen time and time again from teaching this class. They were novel and interesting, providing far more food for thought than some articles her contemporaries had written about work they had done for their entire careers. 

In fact, it seemed like none of the current coursework was challenging enough for him.

She chewed slightly on the pen as she contemplated a potential offer. 

Her silk nightgown moved with her, reflecting a soft glow as she wrote down a message next to his grade. 

_Come see me after class_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I was looking at Oxford's website and there is a degree closely associated with the class I am envisioning that Elizabeth teaches.  
> https://www.ox.ac.uk/admissions/undergraduate/courses-listing/classical-archaeology-and-ancient-history  
> History is my other love and I am basing the content on an Ancient Mediterranean class I took in undergrad.  
> Gives me an excuse to brush up on those old notes.  
> <3 <3


End file.
